Fallen Kingdom
by JoScarlett
Summary: 'Is a fallen kingdom still a kingdom' Isabella Swan asks when a stranger presents her with an opportunity to follow her abandoned dreams. 'Everything can be rebuilt.' Can she find the strength to start the rest of her life, broken as she is, or will the past continue to haunt her?
1. The servant

_**A/N: So, this is a new story. Don't worry, I will never neglect The story of Isabella Hale. But this has nestled itself in my brain and I can't get it out, so I decided to just write it down and we'll see what happens. It's very different from my other story, but this fleeting thought has taken hold of me, ready to take me on another adventure, just like The story of Isabella Hale and I hope you will enjoy it just as much.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: SM owns everything.**_

* * *

''Sweetheart, you have a visitor today.'' A gentle female voice floated toward me and a second later I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. I didn't turn around and continued to stare at the blossoming garden in front of me.

''Isn't that nice?'' the voice urged, willing me to respond. I didn't so she walked around and knelt down in front of me with a kind smile, blocking the garden from view. I felt somewhat irritated that she had interrupted my quiet time.

I briefly considered ignoring her, but decided against it. I didn't get many visitors and when I did they weren't accompanied like this person obviously was.

''He says his name is Mr. Whitlock and he really wants to meet you, '' the nurse informed me. I had never heard that name before and I couldn't fathom why this stranger would like to talk to me.

''Why?'' I asked, my voice a little hoarse from lack of use.

''I'm sure he'll tell you that himself, sweetheart,'' the nurse said. She got back to her feet and beckoned someone behind me to enter.

''Miss Swan?'' a soft male voice filled the air and I was forced to turn my head around to see who that voice belonged to. A tall man with blond hair hovered in my peripheral vision. He seemed to be in his thirties and had a kind smile that crinkled his blue eyes. I dipped my head to acknowledge him. He sighed, seemingly relieved, and walked toward me with an outstretched hand.

''My name is Jasper Whitlock,'' he announced. My eyes flickered to his outstretched hand and I hesitated before I took it.

''I'll leave you two alone,'' the nurse said, but I wasn't paying attention to her. ''I'll stay close in case there's anything you need.''

''Thank you for you help,'' Mr. Whitlock said. The nurse left with another kind smile and I heard a door close behind her.

Mr. Whitlock took the opportunity to sit down in a nearby chair. He looked around for a moment.

''It's very peaceful here,'' he noted after a minute of silence.

''I suppose,'' I answered. I look at the blossoming garden again. It was the middle of August, so the weather was nice. I could sit here on the porch and enjoy the fresh air and lively colors around me. The nurses had hoped that it would help my recovery.

''How are you feeling, Miss Swan?'' he asked. I chanced another look at him from the corner of my eye and he was watching me intently. I didn't answer him, though the look in his eyes suggested that he knew more about me then he led on.

For a moment I thought that he would start asking questions that I didn't want to answer, so I was glad when his decided on another course.

''You must be wondering why I'm here,'' he continued. He seemed very comfortable with himself and his voice had a pleasant warmth.

''Yes,'' I said, unable to deny it.

''I'm aware that this is a little unconventional, '' he started and I turned my head to look at him properly for the first time. ''We usually communicate through letters, but I believed this called for an official meeting.'' He glanced around and I realized what he meant. I was unconventional. My situation was unconventional.

''But I'm here to tell you that you have been accepted at NYU,'' Mr. Whitlock continued and I felt my eyes widen at his words.

''Excuse me?'' I said, too shocked to remain polite.

''You seem very surprised,'' he noted.

''I should be,'' I said, sitting up a little straighter. ''I never applied.''

''I beg your pardon?'' he replied politely.

''I never applied to NYU,'' I repeated. ''Actually, I never applied anywhere.'' I looked around again and he followed my eyes automatically.

He then opened his suitcase and pulled out several forms.

''You are Isabella Marie Swan, right?'' he checked and I nodded. ''I have your application right here, signed and all. From what I gathered you seemed set on NYU.''

I sighed and looked out at the garden again. ''Once,'' I admitted.

''Your dreams have changed?'' he asked.

''My life has changed,'' I corrected him. I lifted my hand and gestured around me.

''Yes,'' he nodded. I could see the sympathy in his eyes when he regarded me and I wanted to turn away from it, but for some reason I didn't. ''It seems that things have not been easy for you.''

I didn't respond. My current state should be proof enough.

''Overcoming adversity shows a strength of character,'' he said.

''I'm not strong.''

''You're still here, aren't you?'' he replied with a kind smile. I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but this man didn't know me. He had no idea how wrong his assumptions were.

''Is a fallen kingdom still a kingdom?''

''Everything can be rebuilt,'' he answered and I actually had to laugh at that. It was a hollow laugh without humor and it sounded strange and alien to my ears.

''Brick by brick, I presume?'' I said, not waiting for an answer. ''Disguise an ordinary man and crown him king. There, sit on the ruins of your predecessor and claim what was never yours!''

I stood up on shaky legs and stretched my arm out to touch this faceless impostor.

''As long as we can pretend they will be none the wiser. And maybe, someday, someone will come along and destroy all that you have built. All that you have fought for. But fear not, if you die you will truly follow the path that you've so willingly chosen. Then and only then can you be king, revered by your loyal subjects.''

I stood there on wobbling knees, my heart hammering and my breath labored. A kingdom that went up in flames and on the ashes stood a man, faceless and alone, ready to fool the world and rebuilt his kingdom on the blood of those that came before him. A strong pair of hands curled themselves around my shoulders and pulled me back into my chair. I flinched, but let myself be dragged back into my rocking chair.

''Please, calm down,'' a worried voice urged me. ''You are still weak.'' I looked into the alarmed eyes of Mr. Whitlock and stared.

''Are you an impostor?'' I asked him. ''An ordinary man, claiming to be a king?''

''I am not a king,'' he answered, his eyes serious and wide. I searched his eyes and saw nothing but truth reflected back at me.

''No, you are not,'' I agreed, a little calmer. I turned my head to the side, measuring him. ''Who's your king?''

''I have no king,'' he replied and I shook my head.

''Every servant has a king and every king has servants,'' I told him.

''You think I'm a servant?''

I reached out and picked up the papers that lay on the small table between us. I held them up to show him. ''Yes.''

''Then wouldn't NYU be the kingdom that I serve?'' he asked and I considered that for a moment.

''You tell me,'' I said and he sighed. He seemed to have aged a little in the last few minutes and I knew how he felt. Riddles and quests did that to you. But he was not the one that needed to solve the riddle, so he had no excuse. He stayed silent for a while, contemplating his next words.

''You cannot tell me,'' I answered for him when the silence stretched on. ''Your loyalty does you credit.''

He looked away and frowned at the garden.

''You want to cage this broken bird and drag her to your kingdom?'' I asked and his eyes found mine again. ''Does your king enjoy cruel amusement?''

'' The word broken suggests that something can be fixed,'' Mr. Whitlock replied. ''A wingless bird may sing.''

''Then it's not fixed,'' I pointed out.

''Perhaps he's under the impression that she is no ordinary bird,'' he said. ''Perhaps he believes she will rise again.''

''And there it is,'' I said and I leaned back in my chair. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion before he seemed to realize what I meant. I leveled him with a stare, but to his credit he didn't look away. ''Who's your king?''

''You just complimented my loyalty,'' he reminded me.

''You want to lure me to your kingdom under false pretenses?'' I asked. ''Chivalry is dead.''

''No false pretenses,'' he said, picking up the papers. ''You are very much wanted.''

I sighed, closed my eyes and then opened them and stared at the garden in front of me again.

''Even if I wanted to, and I'm not sure I want to, I could not afford it.''

''Everything is already paid for,'' Mr. Whitlock informed me.

''I haven't applied for a scholarship either,'' I said. ''And no one would spend that much money on me. They know it's a waste.''

''Apparently someone out there is willing to take that risk,'' he said.

''Those dreams have died,'' I said, trying to make him understand that he was wasting his time on me.

''But you haven't,'' he said and I turned my head again.

''Yes, I have,'' I said and his frown reappeared. ''I'm dead.''

''You seem very much alive.''

''The flesh is unwilling.''

''I'd say it's rather willing,'' he disagreed. ''Is the glass really half empty here?''

''Half empty, half full,'' I muttered. ''It makes no difference. The problem lies in the measure itself.''

''No, it all depends on how you look at it.''

''No, half will always be half,'' I said with a shake of my head. ''Be either full or empty. Make up your mind. Half is worse than nothing.''

''Half represents life itself,'' he said.

''You win some, you lose some, huh?'' I said. ''Then what do you hope to gain from this?''

''I thought we had already established that I'm merely a loyal servant.''

''Then what does you king hope to gain?''

''Happiness,'' he said and the word seemed to float around us for a prolonged moment.

''Then he should find another bird to sing to him,'' I eventually answered. ''I have no desire to become your king's entertainment.''

''Perhaps he can be your king as well,'' Mr. Whitlock said.

''My loyalties can't be swayed nor bought.''

''Then where is your king?'' he asked and I knew we had finally reached the road I was unwilling to take. I stayed silent for a long time, but eventually I answered him.

''Dead.''

* * *

 ** _I am aware of the fact that this is a very vague and confusing start, but it think it sets the tone for the rest of the story. Naturally I have planned things a little ahead, but there are several storylines that are still quarreling inside my head. Please let me know your thoughts on this first chapter of my new story. Is this something that sparked your interest? Does it make you curious to read on? Let me know and leave a review. Thank you in advance and I'll update the next chapter soon.  
For those who also read The story of Isabella Hale: I'm busy writing the next chapter, but this one sort of snuck up on me and I had to write it first to create some space in my head. Don't worry, I'll update that story very soon. The chapter is already halfway done.  
For those who do not read The story of Isabella Hale: check it out! :)_**

 ** _TTFN! X_**


	2. The deal

_**A/N: Hi! First, I wanted to thank all of you for your amazing reviews. I seems I have peaked your interest with this story and I'm glad to hear it. I hope this next chapter will have the same positive effect. I'm very excited about this story! Enjoy this chapter and don't forget to review!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: SM owns everything.**_

* * *

''I heard you had an interesting visitor today, Isabella.''

I swayed slowly back and forth in my rocking chair as I watched the sun disappear behind an apple tree.

''You knew he was coming,'' I said. It wasn't a question, so it didn't surprise me when I didn't receive an answer. I tucked the blanket that had been draped over me into my sides and rested my elbows on the arms of the rocking chair.

''Do you want to tell me about it?''

I stared into the patient and understanding eyes of my therapist. So much understanding and so little comprehension.

''He told me I had been accepted at NYU.''

''That's very good news, isn't it?'' His blue eyes twinkled behind his round spectacles. ''You've told me it was your dream once.''

''Once,'' I agreed. I rested my head against the chair and gazed at the setting sun. The sky had turned a bloody orange; someone had painted it that way with flames and blood.

''It died, along with everything else, and now lies buried in a tomb beyond my reach.''

He crossed his left leg over the other and leaned back in his chair. ''Some things have to die to make room for new things. Better things.''

I tore my gaze away from the setting sun and fixed him with a cold glare. ''And some die and take everything with them.''

He sighed and rested his elbow on his chair, leaning his head in the palm of his hand.

''Did you apply to NYU before - '' he caught himself and struggled to find the right word. ''Everything,'' he decided.

''I never applied.''

This seemed to confuse him. I could see the familiar lines in his forehead straining against his greying eyebrows.

''Plans change,'' I clarified. I stared at a solitary flower that swayed near the porch.

''Perhaps they can change again,'' he offered. I closed my eyes when the warm evening wind blew across my face. ''This man has given you the opportunity to start over. At least consider it.''

''I already told him no.''

I watched his reaction and wasn't surprised when an irritated frown appeared on his already crowded forehead. He sighed and rubbed his face with the palm of his hand.

''If you keep rejecting every chance at happiness you - ''

''He'll be back,'' I said before he could finish his sentence. His eyebrows shot up before they knitted together in confusion.

''Is that what he told you?''

''No, but he'll be back.'' I replayed the meeting with Mr. Whitlock in my head and nodded. ''He'll be back. Tomorrow, same time.''

''Charlie called this afternoon,'' he said. He seemed to think it best to change the subject. My left eye twitched in irritation at the mention of that name and I swallowed my retort.

''He wanted to know if - ''

''I know what he wants,'' I said, cross and cold. ''And the answer hasn't changed.''

''Isabella.'' My therapist sighed. Every conversation we had seemed to age him. It made me wonder why he bothered at all. ''He's your father. He only wants what's best for you.''

I scoffed and shook my head. ''Obviously.''

It remained silent for a moment and I focused my eyes on the setting sun once more.

''Well,'' he said after a long pause. ''You should get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow.''

''Good night.'' My response signaled the end of our conversation and he left after muttering a resigned good night.

* * *

My suspicions proved right when Mr. Whitlock showed up the following day, accompanied by the same nurse. I checked the time and wanted to laugh at his predictability. Two o'clock in the afternoon, the same time as yesterday. Punctual, determined and just as polite as ever.

''Good afternoon, Mr. Whitlock. ''

''Miss Swan.''

He held his hand out for me to take and I didn't hesitate this time.

''How are you feeling today?'' He sat down in the vacant chair on the porch, his eyes trained on my face.

''I'm fine.''

''You don't seem surprised to see me,'' he noted and the corner of my mouth twitched in response.

''A loyal servant doesn't return empty handed.''

He smiled and leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine.

''And yet you seem determined to thwart my task.''

''Overcoming adversity shows a strength of character,'' I said, quoting his own words.

''Is all this merely a test designed to prove my sincerity?''

I rested my head against the chair and swayed back and forth, contemplating my response.

''No,'' I answered after a pause. ''It's a method.''

''Isn't that the same thing?''

We were interrupted when a nurse appeared with a tray and placed it on the table between us. She handed Mr. Whitlock a porcelain cup filled with herbal tea before she gave me an identical cup. She placed a platter of biscuits on the table and left again without another word. I used the distraction to buy myself some time and took a sip of my herbal tea. Mr. Whitlock copied my action and his features arranged themselves into a look of disgust before he put the cup back down.

I placed a small cup of sugar in front of him and he chuckled.

''How did you know?''

''Very few drink their tea without sugar,'' I said.

''Except you?'' he asked as he poured some sugar into his cup.

''It kills the flavor.''

He took another sip and hummed in approval. ''Better.''

''It's not the same thing,''I said, answering his question. ''I don't doubt your sincerity.''

He put his tea down and took a biscuit. ''Then what do you doubt?''

''Nothing in particular.'' I wedged the nail of my left dumb between my teeth as I pondered. ''I'm trying to deduce your motivations.''

''You want to know a servant's motivations?'' This seemed to amuse him. '' Aren't they always the same?''

''Your king's motivations then,'' I amended.

''I told you yesterday,'' he reminded me and I shook my head.

''That answer won't do.''

He sighed and took another sip. ''You doubt his intentions?''

''Obviously.'' I sipped my tea before I continued. ''What is this really about?''

''I'm here to offer you a scholarship,'' he answered without a pause and my eyes narrowed.

''Why would he offer a scholarship to a stranger?''

This time Mr. Whitlock took a little longer to answer my question.

''What makes you think you haven't met before?''

''Then why the secrecy?'' It just didn't add up.

''He prefers to remain an anonymous benefactor.'' He paused and took another sip. ''At least for now.''

''What about my accommodations? ''

''Everything is taken care off,'' Mr. Whitlock assured me. I frowned at him and took a biscuit to buy myself some time to think it over.

''What's holding you back?'' he asked, sensing my hesitation. ''Isn't this the opportunity of a lifetime?''

''I get the feeling you already know the answer to that.'' I rested my head against the rocking chair and resumed my swaying.

''Yesterday you told me your king is dead,'' he said, his eyes suddenly boring into mine. I didn't look away. The only way to get answers was to relay everything.

''Tell me your story,'' he urged. I didn't respond, but watched as the fire in his eyes lit up. ''Tell me your story and I'll tell you mine.''

It was a tempting offer.

''You must have the patience of a saint,'' I noted and his right eyebrow arched.

''I can't be both,'' he said. ''I'm either a servant or a saint.''

''Are you here to hear my confessions?'' I asked. ''Or are you here because you've been ordered to collect me?''

''Perhaps both,'' he allowed. ''But saints do not move.''

''Perhaps I misplaced you twice and are you neither the servant nor the saint.''

''Then what am I?''

''The king's wise council perhaps?''

The right corner of his mouth lifted as he watched me. ''His right hand?''

''Your king must be very determined if he sends his right hand,'' I noted.

''He is,'' Mr. Whitlock assured me. ''So, do we have a deal?''

''My story in exchange for yours?'' I verified and he nodded. ''I'd say that's a bargain.''

''Knowledge always comes at a price.''

''I'm very well aware, Mr. Whitlock.''

''I do have another stipulation,'' he added and I leaned my head to the side. ''When the truth is out you need to accept the offer and come with me to New York.''

''No turning back, huh?'' I said and he nodded. ''I figured as much.''

I remained silent, thinking. My curiosity would be the death of me, but that may turn out to be a blessing in disguise. I feared nothing, because I had nothing left to lose.

''Deal.'' I held my hand out for him to take and he shook it with a smile. He drank the rest of his tea and rose from his chair.

''I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Whitlock.''

He didn't question my assumption. He merely smiled and picked up his briefcase.

''Until tomorrow, Miss Swan.''

On that note he left and I was alone once more. I sipped my tea in contemplative silence and swayed the chair back and forth in a slow, comforting rhythm.

At some point the nurse returned to refill my cup of tea. My days had become predictable.

People seemed to go out of their way to offer me some kind of routine. It made me feel clairvoyant.

At seven PM sharp my therapist returned, taking his usual seat across from me. He sat in the same chair Mr. Whitlock had vacated a few hours before.

''It seems your speculations were spot on, Isabella.'' He smiled and placed is left leg over the right one, just as I anticipated. ''I'm glad to see he hasn't given up on you.''

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. ''Do you want to tell me about it?''

''He'll be back tomorrow, two o'clock.''

''That's very good news, isn't it?'' His blue eyes twinkled behind his round spectacles.

''We made a deal.''

''What kind of deal?'' I could hear the concern in his voice and when I turn my head to check the familiar frowning lines had congregated on his crowded forehead.

''My story in exchange for his,'' I clarified. ''And he made me promise to come to New York with him after that.''

''So you're going to college after all?'' His voice sounded full of hope and his wrinkled forehead smoothed, making him appear ten years younger.

''That's not part of the deal.'' The frowning lines returned in full force.

''Then why would you go to New York?''

''This was never about a scholarship.''

* * *

 _ **More vagueness! But with the promise that from now on things will become clearer as soon as they start opening up to each other. Please let me know what you think, good or bad, and leave a review! I'll update again very soon!**_

 _ **TTFN! X**_


	3. The knight

_**A/N: Hi! First, as always, I want to thank all of you for reading this story and for all the amazing reviews I have received. They always make my day! This chapter contains the first of many flashbacks. I have chosen to work with flashbacks as Bella reveals her life story to Mr. Whitlock. Naturally the flashbacks are in italics. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations and I'm curious to know what you all think of it, so don't forget to leave a review!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: SM owns everything.**_

* * *

''My mother died when I was eight.''

Mr. Whitlock halted his movements and the porcelain cup filled with herbal tea hovered in midair, his mouth slightly open in anticipation. He regarded me with sympathy, but this news shouldn't come as a surprise to him.

''And your father?'' He put the cup down without taking a sip and rested his elbows on the table instead.

''He was never the same after that.'' I felt a stab of pity in the pit of my stomach whenever I thought about my father. ''He threw himself into his work, hoping, I think, to distract himself. He wasn't around as much after that.''

''That sounds like a lonely childhood,'' he observed. I smiled and circled the rim of my cup with my pinky finger.

''I wasn't alone.'' I took a sip of herbal tea and Mr. Whitlock watched me intently. ''I spend most of my time with family friends down at La Push.''

''The Indian Reservation on the coast?''

''Yes.'' I couldn't help but smile when I thought about that place. Despite all that had happened it had been my childhood home in all the ways that counted.

''Was it a happy home?''

''It was a hazardous home.'' I chuckled and shook my head at the fond memories that played before my inner eye. I noticed Mr. Whitlock's quizzical brow.

''In the best sense,'' I added and he returned the smile that hovered around the etches of my mouth. ''The boys didn't have any regards for safety and I, curious as I was, tagged along willingly. It's a trait I inherited from my mother.''

''What was she like?'' His fingertips danced along the etches of his cup, his eyes still trained on my face.

I closed my eyes and pictured the woman I had lost so many years ago.

''She was a work of art that puzzled even the most well-read critics; a walking contradiction. She was very beautiful. Her smile lit up the room and her laugh was so infectious you couldn't help but laugh along with her. She had these mysterious blue eyes that could make you do anything. They made you want to be in on her secrets. She was adventurous, slightly eccentric and full of life. She had the wildest imagination. But she was also childish, moody, impatient and sometimes downright mean and selfish. She didn't make it easy to love her, but my father never stopped trying. She held his heart in the palm of her hand and when she died she took it with her, leaving him broken beyond repair.''

''Do you resent your father?'' Mr. Whitlock's eyes bored into mine, trying to lift the answers from my mind. It seemed my answers were somehow vitally important to him. It had been a while since someone had shown a genuine interest in me and my twisted life.

''No.'' I shook my head and took another sip before I elaborated. ''I understand his pain. Now more than ever.''

''Do you miss her?'' It seemed an obvious question, so when he didn't receive the obvious answer I suspected him to be surprised, but he wasn't.

''You lost someone too,'' I observed. I recognized the look in his eyes all too well.

''My father.'' I noticed the slight twist in his features when he uttered those words.

''You hated him.'' It wasn't a question.

''My father was a bully,'' he said, his eyes drifting out of focus when he recalled his memories. ''A business man through and through.'' He scoffed and shook his head in distaste.

''And your mother?''

''My mother is weak.'' I couldn't detect any hate in his voice, only the sadness that was reflected in his eyes. ''Which makes sense, since my father didn't like to be contradicted.''

I didn't need a masters degree in psychology to deduct that Mr. Whitlock's resentment for his father ran a lot deeper than mine would ever go. He shook his head, banishing the unwelcome memories and turned his fixation back to me.

''Nothing screws a person up more than parents.'' His statement hung in the air for a moment before he cleared his throat and fired another question my way.

''Any siblings?''

''No biological ones as far as I know.''

His eyebrows knitted together and a low chuckle tickled my throat.

''I grew up with a lot of kids on the Reservation. I always considered them my siblings. Family runs deeper than blood.''

''Yes, it does,'' he agreed. ''You said it was a hazardous home. Tell me.''

''Have you ever been there?'' He shook his head and I chuckled. ''Rocky beaches with high cliffs and a deep, dark forest. Combine that with a bunch of reckless kids and you find yourself in trouble in the blink of an eye.''

''A lot of dangerous pastimes?''

''Hide and seek in the forest after sundown, unsupervised bonfires on the beach, cliff diving, shabby dirt bikes,''I ticked them off on my fingers and Mr. Whitlock laughed.

''How many times have you been in the hospital?''

''I was a regular costumer,'' I chuckled and he shook his head in amusement.

''I bet.''

His easy laughter blended with the hot summer sun that shone on the porch and I rocked back and forth in my chair, resting my head while I observed him. One of the nurses arrived with another tray and he thanked her with a kind smile. He filled his porcelain cup with sugar and stirred with a small tea spoon. The clinking of the metal against the porcelain echoed around us and formed a strange duet with the birdsongs.

Mr. Whitlock took a sip of his sugary sweet tea and hummed in appreciation.

''That's where I met him.''

His eyes flew back to mine and I tried to name the emotions they reflected.

''But you knew that already,'' I added, measuring every slight change in his sky blue eyes.

The emotion that should have shone in his eyes if he hadn't known remained absent, betraying his knowledge. A flash of recognition appeared instead, leaving his eyes again when he seemed to remember himself. He opened his mouth, ready to disclaim my assumption, but then he closed it again. His eyebrows knitted together and his eyes left mine and focused on the swirling contents of his cup instead.

''How old are you, Mr. Whitlock?''

When I first laid eyes on him I assumed he must be somewhere in his thirties, but now I wasn't sure. I tried to look past his immaculate suit and well-groomed appearance, wondering if maybe…

''I'm twenty-eight.''

''When I first met you I thought you were older,'' I admitted.

''The suit adds a few years.'' He chuckled, but it wasn't as genuine as before. I could hear the slight strain in his voice and noticed the small changes in the muscles around his sky blues. I leaned my head to the side and appraised him, amused.

''You seem on edge. Have I said something?''

''Not at all.'' His trained politeness returned almost immediately and I wondered if his father had taught him that. No, if his father had conditioned him to act a certain way I should say. That seemed probable. ''You are simply very different from the people I usually meet. Your words are either blunt and direct or very obscured. There doesn't seem to be a middle ground with you.''

''Is that a complaint, Mr. Whitlock?''

''Quite the opposite.'' He smiled and wrapped his hands around the porcelain. ''I find it very refreshing.''

''Your eyes are very clear,'' I noted and this time his smile was genuine. ''Like the summer sky.'' I watched as he looked up and followed a flock of birds that flew over our heads. ''Nowhere to hide.''

His eyes found mine again and he sighed.

''Just like those birds.'' I could hear the bitterness in his voice.

''Honesty is a virtue.''

''My father would've disagreed. He said it's one of my greatest weaknesses. The thing that kept me from truly being great.'' His eyes showed the hurt that was audible in his voice. ''He would have loved your eyes. Dark, unfathomable pools full of mysteries and riddles.''

''I like your eyes just fine.'' A wistful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ''They can't lie. I find it refreshing also.''

''It seems I am at a disadvantage.''

''On the contrary,'' I disagreed. ''We made a deal, remember? I have no reason to lie.''

I closed my eyes and turned my face toward the sky, loving the way the sun warmed my pale cheeks.

''Why did you agree to our deal?''

I opened one eye and felt the corner of my mouth curl up in a smile. ''Curiosity.''

I reached for my tea and cradled the porcelain cup in my hands, watching the swirling contents. ''I can never seem to help myself.'' I smiled at him. ''Speaking of weaknesses.''

''Do you consider curiosity a weakness?''

''No, but I would consider the inability to turn away from it a weakness.'' I gestured around me and Mr. Whitlock's eyes followed. ''What doesn't kill us makes us stronger, right?''

''When we first met you told me you were dead,'' he remembered. ''Are you finally accepting that you're still alive?''

''I'm a hollow vessel.''

''If that were true your curiosity would have died along with the rest.''

I considered his words and smiled before I took a sip. ''Perhaps you're right.''

''Tell me about him.'' His earnest eyes bored into mine again and I could hear the fervor in his low voice. The vital interest returned in full force and I decided to humor him with my truth.

''His name was Edward Cullen and he was the doctors equivalent of my knight in shining armor when I met him.''

* * *

 _I was barely conscious when someone lifted me off the ground, strapped me onto a gurney and wheeled me away. I could hear Jake's familiar voice shouting my name, his anxious calls mixing with the blaring noise of the sirens. I wanted to answer him, tell him that he shouldn't worry so much, but found myself incapable of moving. I had really stepped into it this time. I decided that if I died I would come back and haunt Jake for eternity for orchestrating this disastrous failure. That way I could punish him for his recklessness and myself for my damned curiosity. I'd always said that it would be the death of me one day. Perhaps that day had finally arrived._

 _Someone ordered me to open my eyes which I managed with herculean effort. I didn't recognize the face that hovered over me, but I recognized the look in his eyes. I had seen it one too many times before._

 _''_ _Is she going to be okay?'' I saw Jake in my peripheral vision. His eyes were wide with concern and his copper skin seemed a little paler than usual. I noticed the blood staines on his shirt and wondered whether it was my blood or his own that had soiled the birthday present I had given him two weeks ago._

 _His eyes flew to mine and he let out a sigh of relief. ''You're awake.''_

 _I wanted to tell him to man up, but the words got stuck in my throat._

 _''_ _I'm so sorry, Bells.'' He grabbed my hand and I felt his thumb caress my skin. ''This is all my fault.''_

 _Next moment I was carried out of the ambulance and wheeled into the hospital. I knew the drill. They would place me in the emergency room where a doctor would examine me and probably run some tests. Then he would mend the things that were broken and give me another lecture on the importance of safety before discharging me with a disapproving shake of his head and a prescription for painkillers or something equally pain- and mind numbing._

 _Jake kept up his constant stream of apologies until he was forced to wait outside while the paramedics rolled me into the nearest emergency room and closed the curtains around me to offer me a false sense of privacy._

 _I stared at the white ceiling while I waited for the doctor to arrive, pondering my current state. I couldn't move an inch of my body and supposed that they had strapped me down as a precaution. The neck brace dug into my skin and my wrists and ankles were tied, so I couldn't even feel any possible damage. The white lights on the ceiling bored into my eyes and stung the back of my skull, so I closed them._

 _''_ _Isabella Marie Swan, seventeen years old, motorcycle accident.'' A familiar male voice filled the emergency room. I opened one eye and recognized the familiar grey hairs of Dr. Gerandy. He gave me a stern look before he conjured a light and shone it into my eyes. I closed them as soon as the light hit them and he grunted._

 _''_ _Possible head trauma.''_

 _I chanced another look at him and saw him writing on a chart. His eyes found mine again after a second and he clucked his tone in disapproval._

 _''_ _That's the second time this month, Bella.'' I wanted to roll my eyes at him, but ceased the action when the movement shot a sharp pain through my head. He gave me a knowing look before he took out a pair of scissors and cut through the fabric of my shirt. His cold fingers ghosted over my stomach until he started pressing down. A sharp pain shot through me when his fingers reached my ribs and I hissed loudly._

 _''_ _We need an x-ray to determine any possible fractures.'' He tormenting fingers proceeded and I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes._

 _''_ _Those cuts need cleaning and stitching.'' He continued to mutter as he examined my mangled body while I tried to think of more pleasant things. Like all the ways I could make Jake pay for getting me into this sorry state. Dismantling his motorcycle and hiding the pieces was an all-time favorite of mine, but somehow that didn't seem to cut it this time. I could always make him my slave and force him to do all manner of unspeakable and embarrassing things. Guilt always made him very agreeable._

 _I was wheeled away after Dr. Gerandy had finished his examination and recognized the familiar route. The X-ray department._

 _''_ _Bella.'' A familiar face appeared above me and I felt the corners of my mouth curl up in amusement. ''I'd say nice to see you again, but I don't think that's the appropriate greeting.'' Brad shook his head in wry amusement. ''Let's make some pictures, beautiful.''_

 _He set me up and disappeared behind a closed door. Normally I would be able to see him through the glass wall, but my head was still trapped by that stupid neck brace, so all I could do was stare at another white ceiling and wait._

 _When he appeared again his concerned eyes hovered over mine and I felt a strange sense of foreboding._

 _''_ _This doesn't look good, honey. A fracture in your left leg, a broken hip, three broken ribs, a minor fracture in your right arm, a dislocated shoulder and a concussion.'' He shook his head and I could see the sympathy in his grey eyes. Jake would receive a lifelong sentence as my slave for this._

 _I was wheeled back to the emergency room where a party of nurses stood waiting for me with Dr. Gerandy._

 _''_ _Well, well well.'' He clicked his tongue again in disapproval. ''You have done it this time, young lady.'' He hovered over me and arched his eyebrow. ''What do you have to say about this?''_

 _I opened my mouth and formed a garbled and whispered response. ''Shit happens.''_

 _He cleared his throat and shook his head, muttering something under his breath that I couldn't make out._

 _''_ _Your father is on his way.''_

 _''_ _Fuck.''_

 _''_ _Yes, I suppose he'll have plenty to say about this.''_

 _''_ _Whatever.''_

 _Another disapproving look. This man was so predictable I wanted to laugh, but I knew it would only hurt my head._

 _''_ _Someone will be with you shortly to stitch up those wounds and set the bones.''_

 _After that pleasant statement Dr. Gerandy left the room and I was forced to wait and stare at that damned ceiling in silence._

 _I was starting to get tired and felt my eyes close of their own accord, but wrenched them open again when I remembered that I had a concussion. I couldn't fall asleep yet._

 _While I struggled with staying awake I felt the seconds crawl by as if someone had deliberately slowed them down just to torment me._

 _My vision was suddenly obscured by pair of troubled green eyes set in the most beautiful face I had ever seen._

 _''_ _You must be Isabella Swan.'' A velvet voice caressed my ears as I inhaled the intoxicating scent of his breath. ''My name is Dr. Cullen and I'm here to stitch you back up.'' The smile that followed this statement clouded my brain and seemed to work as a natural painkiller to my throbbing head. I blinked, dazzled by his sudden angelic appearance._

 _''_ _Bella.'' I whispered the only thing I could think of saying. ''My name is Bella.''_

* * *

The clock chimed and I jumped at the sound. It was five o'clock in the afternoon.

''I suppose it's time for you to leave, Mr. Whitlock.'' He too had jumped at the sudden disturbance and his eyes flashed toward the clock before they found mine again.

''We'll continue tomorrow,'' I assured him. His clear eyes once again revealed more than his words ever could.

He stood and refastened the button on his jacket with a nod.

''It's the middle of August. ''

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion before he seemed to understand what I meant.

''I feel more comfortable this way.'' He cracked an apologetic smile and the left corner of my mouth curled upwards.

''As you wish.''

''Until tomorrow then, Miss Swan.'' He dipped his head and picked up his briefcase.

''Until tomorrow, Mr. Whitlock. Two o'clock.''

* * *

 ** _Well, I think it's safe to say that this chapter was a lot more revealing than the previous ones. Bella will tell Mr. Whitlock her story as promised, revealing her life piece by piece, flashback by flashback, while she continues to analyze him, revealing his story at the same time. I decided to work with the flashbacks to make it a little easier to time jump and unfold both the past and the present at the same time. Please tell me what you think and leave a review, good or bad. I'll update again soon!_**

 ** _TTFN! X_**


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